Break My Step
by lizzagna
Summary: Neither one of them gives, only takes, but they've always been selfish and who else could they take from but each other?


**A/N:** So I've always liked Cook and Effy, never had a problem with Freddie but I just adore Cook. I was procrastinating on an English essay and here you go. Reviews are always appreciated.

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><p>Effy visits Freddie's grave when she's drunk. She likes the way the cold tombstone feels against her flushed cheek, and she likes the silence. Effy's always liked silence; she hates listening to people, and more than that, she hates listening to herself.<p>

The cemetery isn't anything fancy. Just next to a small park, the grass is always trimmed and no one ever vandalizes anything. It isn't creepy at night, and there aren't zombies clawing their way out of the graves to attack Effy as she walks by.

Freddie's grave is simple, and since they never found his body, it's really just a memorial. There's a headstone and it reads "Frederick McClair" in plain serif block letters, with "Beloved son, friend, and brother" scrawled underneath in a curly, graceful script.

There's a small bouquet of flowers resting against the headstone, probably left by Karen during one of her weekly visits. They're already starting to wilt, but when Effy lifts them to her nose, they still hold their sickly sweet scent.

She sits and rests her back against the stone. She likes running her fingers over the letters of his name. When people have nicknames, you sometimes forget they have another name. Freddie was always Freddie, but now anyone who walks by will know him as Frederick.

It's not how he would have wanted to be remembered.

Effy could sit in the cemetery for hours, sometimes she falls asleep and the groundskeeper wakes her up at dawn when he finds her. She is reluctant to leave because there's something special about her visits, like Freds is there with her.

Effy's never believed in God, or heaven, but she believes in Freddie and she likes to think he's up there somewhere, keeping watch over her like he always did.

It's nearly one in the morning. She stumbles up the path and there he is. He's standing over the grave in a red pullover and dirty jeans and he's a bit taller and maybe skinnier, but he's there. And when he turns around her heart stops for the briefest of seconds before she starts yelling at him.

"You're not supposed to be here! How could you—how could you come back? Get out! He wouldn't want you here! You spoiled _everything_!"

He marches towards her with his hands outstretched and her name on his lips makes her stop her screeching just long enough that he can cup her face in his hands, and he's not gentle. But Cook's never been gentle with anything and that's just the way they are.

"I'm sorry," He says, and for the second time since she's known him, he sounds sincere.

Her eyes prick with tears and she tries to swallow the lump in the back of her throat, but she can't and then she's crying and asking him over and over why he left—why he didn't bring her with him.

"Eff," He says as he pulls her into his arms and for a while he just keeps saying her name again and again like chanting it could turn back time, but the fact of the matter is they're in too deep to turn back now.

She cries herself out and he carries her home—to his mate's flat because he hasn't the slightest where Effy's been staying all these years. When he sets her on the bed, he apologizes for the mess and she kisses him.

It's not the good kind of kiss that Cook's wanted from her for so long. It's empty and she tastes like alcohol and fags, but he kisses her back just the same. They fuck and it feels like college again when they were just kids, but there's nothing holding them back this time.

There's no passion, only raw hurt. It's like pouring salt in an open wound, Cook thinks, but they cling to each other, desperate to prove they're in this together. Neither one of them gives, only takes, but they've always been selfish and who else could they take from but each other?

Cook _knows_ her, Effy realizes with anguish. He knows her inside and out, he knows her curves and her fits and her secrets. He knows her in every sense of the word, and she'll never escape him.

He thought they broke the cycle after he went to jail for battery against Foster. He thought they were past all this when the police found Freddie's clothing in Foster's basement. He thought they were through when she refused to look at him during the trial.

But they will always come back to each other because they are the same. Too similar to be with each other but not different enough to stay apart. There's a need to curve their hunger and they find solace in each other.

Cook collapses on top of her, spent, and he rolls off her, pulling her flush against him. They're both breathing hard because they're not teenagers anymore, but Cook is sure they could easily have another go at this point.

"Wanker," She says through a yawn.

"Don't know why they haven't locked you up," He replies, smoothing her hair back from her face. She looks older, thinner, too exhausted for someone her age. She'll leave in the morning, but he'll find her again because that's how they are.

She falls asleep, her head resting on the curve of his arm, and Cook pulls the sheets over them. He doesn't want to sleep. He wants to spend the rest of the night memorizing her, the hard crease of worry on her forehead, her smudged eyeliner, the little freckle above her lip, how her hair always smelled of lavender and cigarettes.

Cook eventually does fall asleep clinging to her, and when he wakes up, she's gone as promised. But now he knows where to find her. He pulls on jeans and a pullover that seems reasonably clean and leaves.

She sits in front of the grave, her hair askew, and she's talking quietly. Cook doesn't come any closer until she stops and turns around. "What do you want?" She asks harshly as he walks closer.

He stops just a foot in front of her and says, "Let him go."

"You can't replace him, Cook," She says, her eyes stinging with tears. "You can't be Freddie."

"I stopped trying to be Freds a long time ago," He says.

She doesn't respond, and he shifts his stance, scratching the back of his head. "You want to get breakfast?"

"Yeah," She says after a quiet minute. "Yeah, let's go."

They would never work together, but they could barely function apart. What they had wasn't love, it was a mutual understanding. Cook didn't belong to anyone, and Effy'd only ever belong to Freddie.

They leave the cemetery together, and there's no promise lingering in the air. They are Cook and Effy, Effy and Cook, and that's all they'll ever be.


End file.
